A Warm Welcome - Part 1
A Warm Welcome - Part 1
Summary: Snipes sent from Genesis Engineering are 'welcomed' by the spooked civvies of the Nebula. For 'welcomed' read 'ambushed.'
Date: 56 ACH
Related Logs: None

Snatch is on the task. She's got a month to get this canott up and flying, and from the set to her jaw she's determined to get it done in half the time. She jumps down from the raptor hatch and near springs up again, taking the lay of the land— the docking bay is cleared of basically all civilian presence, thanks to the last arrival, and so she looks back for her cohort, "Don' look laik no trouble down here, ou-ais, Doc?" she drawls easily.

"None yet, anyway, and gods willing it'll stay that way," Quill agrees, clambering out of the raptor somewhat more sedately, with a tool-kit in each hand. That'll be fun if he trips and has no free hand to stop the fall, yup. "I imagine the last thing Command wants to hear right now is 'oh hey you know that ship where the Marines shot people? Yeah, the engineers got into a fight with them too.' I couldn't blame the people here for being anxious though, when I think about everything that…" He sighs. "Let's just tread cautiously."

Snatch nods her head sharply, "Ou-ais, Doc," she replies, heading for the spine of the craft. "Them Peg'sis crew," she shakes her head distastefully, slipping into Aerelonese to do some cursing that just would never come across right in Colonial, a brief prayer for the Twin Gods to rape that Cain woman up the ass and down the throat at the same time, then spitting on the deck to seal the curse. "Ah don' blame thems all none fer bin a maht jumpy," she adds, having gotten that out of her system.

"Yeah, I… yeah." Quill raises a hand he doesn't have free to rub at his face, tools in the toolbox rattling softly at the hindered gesture. "Not just the Pegasus crew either, Snatch. Our crew. Marines. And it's just… there but by the grace of gods go I, you know? If I'd been here instead of the Carina there's a good chance I'd be press-ganged or dead by now." The Ensign sighs, "Frack, I've got to stop thinking about this. Tell me how to say something inappropriate in Aerelonese."

Snatch hears the rattling and reaches back with her own free hand (only carrying one toolcase, she is) to relieve him if he needs his hand for something. "Ou-ais… The Cap'm tol' min she'ds had half a mahnd t' sen min o'er hi'er a-fore thangs all wen' haywahr… Ah got min som' chills raaaht straight up mahn spaahn, she'ns tol' min sich. Som'n in'proprite? Lahk als—-? Swaarh'n?"

Most people would hand Snatch the toolkit, but intelligence and common sense are not at all the same thing, and thus Quill retains hold of both sets of tools. "This ship's in bad godsdamn shape," he observes as they make their way to Engine Land, "We're going to have buckets of fun getting this thing up and running again within a month. While fixing the other ships, finishing the Persius salvage and mods, continuing general maintenance… mm. Good times." About the Aerelonese, Quill looks over and smiles wryly. "I don't know… Tell me what you'd say when dismantling an uncooperative and frivolous water slide system is taking twice as long as it should. Prime opportunity for inappropriate language."

Snatch turns back toward the hallway, scoffing a little, "We'ns got the taahm, 'fin we'ns all git off ourn hindquarters an' git to our'n chores in earn'st," she grumbles. Yeah, she's seen some of the snipes sneaking off after shift for some time on the Carina. Hrmph. "Lazed-assed sunsa shrill-shreeked carcajou," she mutters, then hums to the request, trying to call up some of that anger from the Destiny. It's hard to summon up some of those colorful utterances on cue, and she feels mildly awkward even as she utters a quiet strain of melodious, thrumming Aerelonese. It sounds like a question, but that's probably just because she's guessing at the sort of thing he wants.

Quill quirks a smile at Snatch's words. Awwww grumpy NCO. "City people are more fragile," he reminds her. "I think they're trying, they're just not quite up to work-sleep-work status yet. Major Zim will apply boots to asses with appropriate force to ensure the meeting of deadlines, whatever the case." He listens to her Aerelonese as they reach their destination, and attempts to echo it back to her as he sets the toolkits down and starts surveying the damage. Aerelonese filtered through Virgon is bad. BAD. It sounds like he's saying something about exciting cabbage rifles, which is probably not what Snatch said.

Snatch is a little odded out as the main corridor also seems to be for the most part abandoned. She spots a few people further on at the beginning of the trip, but they've all disappeared by the time they get to the hatch to Engineering. But she's distracted by the exciting cabbage rifles, which make her laugh despite herself, turning her head with a grin, "Now, tell min Ah don' soun' out half so bad als sich traah'na git out mahn C'lonal, ou-ais?" And almost missing the rather large fellow with the rifle stepping out of the engine room to meet them. And by almost missing I do mean walking right into him.

"Ou-ais," Quill grins. "But you've had more practice." Further attempts to murder her home language in the name of learning it are forestalled by the sudden appearance of the rifleman, and the Ensign stops short. "Sorry, sir," he apologizes to their new friend, "Didn't see you there…"

Snatch bounces off. Resilient little creature. New Friend takes a step forward, and she takes another step back to compensate. "You're not coming in here," New Friend declares, leaving little room open amongst his terse, clipped tones for argument. "Just turn around and go."

Quill glances briefly to Snatch to make sure she's alright — yay for resilience! — then looks back to New Friend. "We're here to help," he explains carefully, lifting one of the toolkits a bit as though this is evidence. "Nothing will be taken away, we've even got a few spare parts we're bringing /to/ this ship… nothing goes back with us. Just want to check the damage and fix it. You can keep watch, make sure nothing gets removed, we'll explain the process as we go…"

Snatch is fine, a little twitchy, looking at that big gun, licking at her lower lip. She's armed with a sidearm, the hand near said sidearm free of baggage, but she doesn't make any move for it, instead simply shifting her toolcase to her gunhand in a subtle display that she's not planning on shooting anyone. The motion catches NF's eye and he looks briefly down, then up. "Leave the parts. And your weapons. We'll do it ourselves. Everyone who comes through this door has been 'here to help,'" he scoffs. "Help themselves, maybe."

Quill has a standard 'hooray you're an officer here's a gun' sidearm, but no free hands, and while we're at it, no ability to hit what he shoots at. No implied threat to the NF with the rifle — but he shakes his head, a negative to the man's wishes. "I'm afraid we can't leave parts here unless we've installed them, sir. We're not looking for a fight, and we're not here to steal from you… if you don't want Genesis crew working on this right now, we'll respect that, pack up, and get off your ship."

Snatch bristles a little at that last statement on the Doc's part, obviously keen on getting to work, and so she no longer refrains from casting in her oar. "Look here, though, a-fore y'ns sen' uns paickin'— we'ns bin gi'en a mon' an no more t' get yern canott a-float agin. It ain't done, y'all's gittin' -left.- Y'ns all wan' git 'er done thens-a-fore? Faahn an' good, less taahm Ah need half t' spaind a-lab'rin on't. But you -don'- an' you'ns gittin -left,- simple-as," she warns.

NF considers all that— or what of that he could grok— for a moment. Then nods. But not to them, oddly enough, rather to the small group that had amassed behind them during the confrontation.

"Take 'em."

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